


The Worth of Gold

by drikstreedur



Series: Gold and Gunpowder [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 05:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13428087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drikstreedur/pseuds/drikstreedur
Summary: In which the Vagabond can't stand to lose his chance again.





	The Worth of Gold

Everyone in the Fake AH Crew knew that their job was incredibly dangerous, some moreso than others. Whether you were the facade of the Crew, or an infamous mercenary in charge of mowing down the masses ahead of your comrades, or a sniper defending the Crew from a distance away, or a hacker wiring money away from a corporation while the rest of the Crew distracted the security in the building and nearby police forces. You were always prepared to be gunned down at any moment outside.

Gavin Free, the Golden Boy of the Fakes, was no exception to this. He always stood behind the scenes, in front of a computer screen and weaving his way through code expertly, hunting down gaps and flaws, decrypting data never meant to be decrypted, slipping money and information away from even the savviest of companies, and yet he had likely the biggest bounty on his head from other gangs in Los Santos. His head was as valuable as his alias’ namesake. And then a rival’s mole managed to get information on him beyond his alias, digging past firewalls and blocks and VPNs and IP masks to uncover his name and appearance.

He had no idea that he had been found out until a rival crew broke into the penthouse and ransacked his room while he was away for a heist with the rest of the Fakes. Thankfully, his computer is hidden away in a secret room of the penthouse and that crew hadn’t found it, but his personal effects had been sorted through, and many of them destroyed or stolen. Photo books, paperwork, records, and information was missing, and Gavin was thrown into a panic.

“I’ll have to go back to England to avoid being killed! They know everything about me! They could find me in public!”   
  
“Gavin you fucking moron, calm down for five minutes before the one who shoots you in the face ends up being me!” Michael, the crew’s hot-headed ball of constant seething rage shouted, shaking poor Gavin by his shoulders enough to possibly give him whiplash. Gavin wasn’t used to his face being the recognized one on everyone’s hit lists. If one crew knew who he was, then countless others likely did by now too.   
  
Chaos in the penthouse was quickly silenced by a looming figure pulling Michael away by the back of his jacket and standing between him and Gavin. The area around his eyes was covered in soot and gunpowder, and the rest had a layer of face paint smeared by sweat and the friction under his mask.

“Gavin, be quiet,” he all but barked, lips turning up in a scowl as his gaze cast across the room. He didn’t necessarily seem angry at the smaller man as much as he seemed angry about the situation in general. The gleam in his bicolored eyes was a fire on its first ends of smoldering and waiting for the gasoline to ignite it.

“But Ryan…”

“I’ll be your bodyguard until we get these dillweeds taken out, Gavin. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“But what if---”

“Don’t you trust me to keep your sorry ass alive for a week? God knows I’ve saved you from getting shot more times than I could count on my fingers and toes. This’ll be easy. I’ll just have to take you everywhere I go for awhile.”

“I mean, I’d listen to what he’s saying, Gavvy. Ryan will shoot anyone on the face who even looks at you funny.”

“Jeremy, stay out of this you twat! You have nothing to do with this!”

“Could we all just calm the fuck down for five minutes?!” came the loud shout of a man in a tuxedo, who looked like he hadn’t slept in about a year and a half. “Gavin, Jeremy is just trying to help. You’re going to be sticking with Ryan until this blows over, and that’s the end of this discussion. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir!” Gavin seemed particularly startled by Geoff’s outburst, standing straight with his arms at his sides and a pallor of fright across his face. At least his decision had been made for him now.

* * *

 

The following week was… Surprisingly uneventful. In public, Gavin wasn’t allowed to be away from Ryan for anything more than using the toilet, and even then Ryan usually waited outside the bathroom just to be sure. Ryan kept an eye on him while he slept, while he ran errands, or anything that required being even slightly outside the penthouse. And for the most part nobody bothered the two of them.

Granted, Ryan wore his mask and jacket just to deter any potential attackers, but the point still stood that nothing seemed to have happened after the break-in a week prior.

At least not until they were out and about for some of Ryan’s errands, on foot because the location of Ryan’s errands weren’t too far from the penthouse anyways and Ryan figured they both needed the exercise. It was just after dusk, the sky darkening beyond the faint strip of orange leftover from the setting sun, and Ryan and Gavin were on their way to “Fancy Nancy’s Arts Emporium” for some yarn. Ryan had been getting antsy after his last project, and he thought maybe teaching Gavin how to crochet would be a good idea since they were stuck together for the time-being.

Some members of the rival gang responsible for the hack and the break-in about two weeks ago now were waiting about three blocks from the penthouse, out in the open and not caring who might pass by. They’d been tracking both Gavin and Ryan for the past week, listening in on conversations and plans for days later, waiting for a time to catch Ryan off-guard and take Gavin down.

Ryan had finally relaxed and chosen to take off his mask, though the folks at Fancy Nancy’s knew him well enough that they wouldn’t mind if he wore it. He still wore the jacket though, with two pistols in the custom pockets he had hidden in the breast panels inside, one on each. Gavin had finally stopped being so paranoid, letting himself chat Ryan up while they were out, roughhousing and cracking jokes with him to try and get him to laugh from behind that intimidating black skull mask. And yes, one or two times in the past few days he’d succeeded. It more-or-less looked like two friends (lovers, maybe) spending time together than it looked like an intimidating mercenary playing bodyguard to an ousted hacker.

Before the two walking down the sidewalk saw the eight members of the rival gang, they heard a gunshot, and Gavin literally leapt onto Ryan’s back in a last-ditch attempt at a self-preservation piggyback ride. Laughter and footsteps trode toward them, and Ryan pulled Gavin off his back so he could get into his jacket and pull out the concealed pistols.

More gunfire before Ryan even got the chance to draw his weapons, this time from five guns instead of just the one. He finally got the pistols out of his jacket just as he heard Gavin let out a broken squawk (not much unlike a chicken being stepped on). Ryan popped a few bullets off in the other gang members’ direction before looking back at Gavin to see what the commotion he’d made was about, and saw him leaning back against the wall of the motel nearby, one arm limp at his side, the other hand awkwardly clutching his abdomen, and one leg lifted slightly off the ground. Under the glow of a nearby streetlight Ryan could see deep crimson seeping from between Gavin’s fingers, and stains in that pastel lavender shirt of his. Fuck, Gavin had been hit, and more than once at that.

Panic set in, and Ryan shoved the pistols back into the pockets inside his jacket before moving to hoist Gavin away from the wall and carry him down the alley between the immediately nearby apartment building and seedy motel next door. He needed to get him somewhere at least semi-safe so he could gun down these motherfuckers and get Gavin back to the penthouse so Jack could take care of his gunshot wounds. He stooped down to place him on the asphalt, leaning him back against the dumpster at the end of the alley, and happened to notice something he hadn’t before: there was blood on Gavin’s lips as well.  **_Fuck, he’d been shot somewhere vital._ ** Ryan cursed to himself and pulled the pistols back out yet again, before shedding his jacket and dropping it over Gavin’s shoulders as more of a comfort to the wounded man than anything else. To let him know that Ryan was still there and more than happy to take care of him now that he needed it so badly. Gavin whimpered and shook as he sat on the ground. He breathed deep, labored breaths from his diaphragm in an attempt to take in enough air, but every few breaths he would sputter and cough, more of his own blood escaping his lips and starting to make its way down his chin. He flinched as he heard a loud battle cry from who he assumed was Ryan, followed by rapid-fire gunshots, and then the sickening sound of crunching bones and tearing flesh once the gunfire had stopped. He could’ve sworn he heard screams that choked-off at the end, but he was starting to fade in and out of consciousness and didn’t have the capacity to be able to figure that out.

He was just about to go back out fully when he heard clunking footsteps approaching him. He was sure this was going to be the end of him as those footsteps halted, sure there was a gun at his head with an itchy trigger finger on the other end… And yet it was eerily quiet as there was a slight shuffling sound in front of him, and he felt arms pulling him close. He whined quietly with his final reserves of conscious energy, and just before he slipped into darkness he registered a voice, low and gentle as he was scooped up off the ground.

“Shh… It’s okay Gavin, I’ve got you…” Gavin went limp in Ryan’s arms, and Ryan immediately froze up for a split moment. Before he could even register what to do, his legs were carrying him and his fallen friend, back to the penthouse as fast as physically possible. Gavin’s chest rose and fell shallowly with his breaths, wheezing and short, and nearly sounding like what wanted to be a death rattle. He ran back to the penthouse, kicked the front door violently no less than six times, and when it was answered by Geoff he shoved him aside and barrelled into the doorway. Sprinting across the ground floor of the penthouse, he cried out as loud as he could for Jack in hopes that she’d hear him. After all, she was the one with the medical knowhow.

**_“Jack, I need you in the infirmary right the fuck now!”_ **

The door of said infirmary was kicked open hard enough that the handle slammed into the wall on the other side and one of the hinges broke apart. He rushed Gavin over to one of the three cots in the room and gently laid him down on it, anxiously looking at the doorway just afterwards.Thankfully, Jack had heard him yelling as he sprinted across the house, and had hurried down to where she was needed, only to see Gavin in incredibly bad shape.

“What the hell happened, Ryan!? I thought you were just running over to Fancy Nancy’s to get yarn!”

“The bastards who broke into the penthouse tracked us down and shot at us before I could get my pistols out of my jacket. I don’t know how many times he was hit, but I know it was more than once and at least one of them hit something vital, because he’s coughing up blood.”

“And I thought Michael’s compound fracture last year was bad… Alright, hurry up and get him over to the surgical table and help me get him stabilized. Time is of the essence right now, especially if he’s spitting up blood.” It took a few hours just because of the places Gavin had been shot, but Jack managed to finally get him stabilized enough to not be practically halfway in the grave. She had to fish four bullets out of Gavin’s shoulder, abdomen, chest (dangerously close to his heart), and leg. She had him hooked up to a bag of blood she had stored from bribed “donations” by the local blood bank, and a respirator that Gavin likely wouldn’t be too happy with having shoved down his throat once he finally woke up. But that would just be tough shit, wouldn’t it?

“That’s about all I can do, Ryan. I can’t force him to heal properly, so now we just need to expect the worst and hope for the best.”

“I won’t expect the worst. He  **_has to_ ** live through this!  **_I promised I’d keep him safe, and I couldn’t!_ ** ” Ryan choked out, voice cracking like fine porcelain under a lead weight. With shock and panic having settled back down into the pit of his stomach, guilt and helplessness finally took hold. He failed Gavin. He promised to keep him from getting attacked, and for what? For some punks from some shitty rival gang to jump them and shoot Gavin possibly fatally? Yes, Ryan ripped them to pieces for it, but what good was that if Gavin died from this?

Tears were flooding his eyes and streaming down his cheeks, and his hands were shaking. He was broken-up beyond belief, and it showed through how he sunk to his knees and let out a sob, moving his hands to rub the tears away from his face.

The other crew members quietly poked their way into the room, concerned and yet not wanting to get in the way of something Ryan would probably rip their heads off for getting in the middle of and interfering with. Geoff got a good look at Gavin laid-up in the infirmary bed with machines and monitors attached to him, and he nearly fainted. This was almost a throwback to what had happened to Ray during a heist a few years ago, although Ray was killed instantly without having to suffer, and the Kingpin wouldn’t be able to handle losing another crew member. Another part of his dysfunctional little  _ family _ .

Jeremy and Michael, however, charged over to the bed to get a closer look at Gavin and stare at his vitals in what seemed like disbelief. Was he going to  _ die _ ? Were they going to lose another Lad? God, they hoped not.

Strangely enough, Ryan didn’t even seem to notice anyone else in the room as he got up and hauled a chair next to Gavin’s bed and planted himself firmly into it.

“I’m not leaving until he wakes up. You guys can handle missions without me.” One day became two, and then three, and then four, and Ryan was losing enough sleep to make him delirious and volatile. He hadn’t been eating unless someone brought him something quick and light, and that was just making his own condition worse.

Gavin still hadn’t woken up. His vitals had improved marginally, but he made no signs of possibly waking up anytime soon. It was starting to look bleak for his survival with every passing day he didn’t wake up. And yet, Ryan stayed by his side the entire time. Several other crew members had tried to convince him to step away for even a few minutes, but it did nothing more than cause an angry outburst where he threatened their lives.

Four days became five, and Ryan’s hope was dwindling fast. How long would this be able to go on before it came time to pull the plug? How long would Ryan have left to be able to stay by Gavin’s side like the guard dog he failed to be? His heart thumped in his chest and a wave of nausea punched him in the gut at the very thought. But why did it hurt this much? He had been in crews and gangs before, he’d seen countless deaths of the people who stood beside him… And yet, he had never felt so desperately close to anyone until the Fakes.

At the prospect of one too many deaths becoming two too many, his heart sunk, causing an agonizing physical tightness in his chest. He groaned softly, gripping at his chest and then glancing at the heart monitor hooked up to Gavin’s chest. His heartbeat was still slow and weak, but it was better than it was five days ago. But not better enough. Here he was again, agonizing the loss of an opportunity to---

That was it. That was why it hurt so much. Because he’d been dancing around the idea of trying to spark a relationship of sorts with Gavin. It was something he was familiar with because of Ray and the tragedy surrounding him, but this time it was out of the fear of one losing the other to the icy grip of death and being far too broken to be helped. Out of the fear of one mourning the other to his own death.

And like hell was he going to let that fear come to fruition without the threat of passion and romance being what tore him apart, rather than where he sat right now in the world of senseless pining. He glanced over his shoulder to be sure he wasn’t being watched by anyone else in the penthouse, and then looked back to Gavin, cold and just next to lifeless on the medical cot beside him.

“Gavin, I know you can’t hear me, but I need to tell you something. It’s something I’ve needed to say for a long time now. Longer than I’m proud of. I know, the big bad Vagabond avoiding something until it’s too late. But… I love you. I have for a long time, I think. And I feel like a dumbass for keeping my mouth shut until now, when I might lose you.”

His voice wavered and broke, and he had to pause a moment to choke back a sob.

“And I know you probably won’t live through this, and saying this is pointless, but I needed to let it out there. Just in the hopes of some dumb fucking luck miracle allowing you to hear me through the coma. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. And I’m sorry.”

Bitter tears were flowing again, unhindered now as he moved a hand to ever-so-gently lace his fingers with Gavin’s, even as cold and limp as they were. It was a comfort for Ryan more than anything. A hope to fool himself into thinking things might be okay.

But suddenly he was starting to feel dizzy and sick, and it wasn’t long until he collapsed, his hand letting go of Gavin’s as he slumped out of his chair and onto the cold floor.

* * *

 

He woke up to an uncomfortable sensation in his abdomen, a tube across his nostrils, and a second monitor beeping. He let out a soft noise, but his eyes remained shut. His entire body hurt, and he could hear voices in the room but none of them stuck out at all or sounded coherent. It was all just slurred mumbling, as far as he could tell.

He began to gradually fade back into consciousness, and though he still didn’t open his eyes, he could finally pick out some things in the room. He could hear words, but not figure out whose was whose, and he could feel an oxygen tube across his nose and a needle in his abdomen. And something in his hand? Blue and green eyes cracked open just a little, a groan escaped him because the fluorescent light was physically painful after being unconscious for who knows how long, and he turned his head to look at his hand to see what the hell was---

That was a hand. In his hand. And that hand was attached to an arm, which was attached to…  **_Oh_ ** .

Green eyes, tired and concerned, were looking back at him, and they brightened when the realization that Ryan was awake had struck.  **_Gavin was awake_ ** . How long had Ryan been unconscious? And why had he gone unconscious in the first place?

“Good morning, sleepyhead…” hoarse words in an accent it had been far too many days since Ryan heard last were spoken, and Ryan felt like he could cry.  **_Gavin was okay_ ** . He was here, and he was  **_alive_ ** .

“What the fuck happened…?” Ryan asked, just sounding befuddled, and he heard a throat being cleared behind him. Jack stepped into view, her arms crossed over her chest and an irritated look on her face. Oh shit, Ryan knew that look.

“You went into hypoglycemic shock. You’re lucky you were just in and out of consciousness for about a day and a half, and didn’t end up in a coma. I’m pretty sure it took me awhile to get to you, since I only found you on the floor and shaking when I came in to check on Gavin.”

“Hypoglycemic shock…?”

“You didn’t fucking eat enough, Ryan. Low blood sugar. Your brain couldn’t keep processing your bullshit without food, so you went into shock.”

Ryan was about to make some half-assed witty retort about how he knew  _what_ hypoglycemic shock was thank you very much, but he was cut short by a squeeze to his hand. Speaking of that, why was Gavin holding his hand anyways? Ryan’s head was starting to spin.

“Ryan, don’t listen to her. She’s being a mopey sock-rag because she had to take care of two bad-off blokes instead of one.”

An exasperated huff could be heard from Jack as she stomped out of the room.

“Are you alright? You look like you’re about to cry.”

“You’re alive.”

“Yes…?”

“And you’re holding my hand. Why?”

“I figured since you weren’t in a coma that you might be able to feel someone being affectionate, and Jack would kill me herself if I’d gotten out of this bloody bed. So hand-holding it was.”

Okay, so that meant Gavin didn’t hear the delirious heartfelt spiel Ryan had spilled out before collapsing. Whether that was good or bad was anyone’s guess, though.

“I love you, Gavin,” Ryan blurted out before Gavin even finished his last sentence. A very, very pregnant pause hung in the air afterwards as Gavin seemed to be trying to just process what Ryan had blurted out.

“I love you too, Ryan. I don’t know why this is confession hour, but if I could kiss you right now I would.”

A bright, exhausted grin swept across Ryan’s face, confusing Gavin even more. And again, he felt like he could cry.


End file.
